Bellamy was angry. Angry at himself, mostly. But he was also angry at her. She was so damn stubborn! He let out a heavy sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair. It was silent in the drop ship. Clarke hadn't had many patients today. That was good. He could be by himself.

He looked around at the crisp, clean metal that made the walls around him. The drop ship seemed so out of place in the soft green earth. He ran his fingers along the table. The cleanliness of the metal table beneath his fingertips reminded him of her.

It was as if he could feel what she had left behind - traces of fingerprints. Everything she did had purpose, meaning. She knew what to do and when to do it. And that infuriated him. He walked away from the table.

Their fight had been long, and heated. Most of the camp had seen it. The funny thing was that he couldn't even remember what they had been fighting about. He just remembered how angry he had been - how angry he was now.

Bellamy was also smart. He knew, in some corner of his mind, why he was so angry. She was so much better than him - she showed him what he was. It was like she was a mirror, and all he could see when he looked at her was the image of his worthless self reflected back at him. It made him angry at the way she held that kind of power over him.

She always knew - what to say, what to do, what was right. And he didn't.

Someone might have said that he knew nothing. And really, in comparison, he didn't. Clarke knew so much more. Her actions mirrored those of his mother's. They were both so loving, so gentle, and yet so fierce.

Clarke's eyes had blazed with anger too. It wasn't just Bellamy. He realized that - he did. She was so short, but Bellamy had still been intimidated by her. She was powerful.

Footsteps on the drop ship ramp called him out of his thoughts.

"I'm really sorry Clarke," Monty says tiredly. "I didn't want to wake you up."

Clarke's exhausted voice follows shortly after. "It's okay, Monty. Really."

She pushes aside the drop ship tarp and steps inside. Monty's arm is draped around her, and she is practically carrying him. Monty's face is slightly contracted with pain, and Bellamy scans his body for injuries. Clarke notices he's there quickly.

"He twisted his ankle," she tells him, her tone quipped and reserved. "Sit down," she orders Monty. Bellamy moves out of the way to let Monty get to the table.

"I tripped going to get water," Monty says, sighing as Clarke rolls up his pant leg. "It was stupid."

Bellamy feels out of place watching them. He feels awkward, like he should be doing something but doesn't know what. So he asks her, "Do you need anything?" He's surprised by his hesitant tone. He is normally so intense.

Clarke doesn't turn around to face him. She kneels on the floor and begins to wrap Monty's ankle. "No." He thinks that's all she is going to say, but she continues reluctantly. "Thank you," she adds on after a while. He can almost hear her pursing her lips.

Bellamy grunts. "Well princess, I'm going to go to sleep." She hums quietly in response, not once turning away from her patient. Monty states at Bellamy intensely. The boy stays quiet, but he knows his leaders. "Make sure she sleeps, Monty," Bellamy says before slipping out of the drop ship.

-

Bellamy has been paying close attention to Clarke. He hasn't realized it, but he has. Or, to be more exact, he's payed close attention to the absence of Clarke. He hardly sees her anymore. She is forced to spend most of her time in the drop ship with her patients. In some way, he almost misses her. There's few people who will stand up to him, but she will. They're both so damn stubborn.

That's why they hate each other. But it's also why they know each other just as well as they know themselves. And that was why they hated each other. They hated themselves, and they saw themselves in each other. It terrified them.

"Clarke!" Someone steps out of her tent to call out Clarke's name.

And then he sees her. Even from across camp, he can see the tiredness in her eyes. It looks like she hasn't slept in days. She probably hasn't, he decides. That worries him. How much time have her patients been taking out of her?

"What do you need?" Clarke's voice is thin and ragged.

And then she collapses.

The world turns in slow motion for Bellamy. He watches as she falls, his mouth open. He's frozen in place. But when he sees the blooming red that is spreading from her head, he shakes himself.

Bellamy runs to Clarke. Her eyes are closed, and her hair is splayed around her head. He has a strange notion that, in that moment, she almost does look like a princess. But he doesn't pause to linger on his strange thoughts. Instead, he scoops her up in his arms.

Bellamy ignores the confused murmurs of the crowd and takes Clarke into the drop ship. He's scared. He doesn't know what to do. He lays her down on the table, and runs a hand through his hair.

"Clarke," he says, peering over her, "wake up." When she doesn't move, Bellamy becomes more anxious. "Look, princess, I know you don't like me, but you've got to wake up."

He shakes his head when she doesn't move. She's worked too hard. She shouldn't have pushed herself so much. He begins to count off the seconds. 1...2....3....4.

Her eyes flutter at the fourth second, and he's on his feet at once. "You okay, Clarke?"

Her blue eyes stare back at him, tired but sure. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a little lightheaded."

He rolls his eyes. He can't explain it, but her actions make him angry. She shouldn't have pushed herself so hard. "You really should have told someone you were tired."

She hums and ignores his statement. "Can I have some water?"

His eyes linger on hers longer than they need to. He is aware of this, but doesn't move. He is acutely aware that she doesn't either. "Sure." He forces himself to move away from her gaze then, and slips outside.

He is met with questions almost as soon as he is seen outside.

"How is she?"

"What happened?"

The girl who had called for Clarke earlier asks, "When can she come and help?"

Bellamy glares at her. "Really?" The girl shrinks back under his gaze. "She just passed out, and you need Clarke already? The only reason she passed out is because you all have been keeping her up for days!" Bellamy's surprised at himself. He's never been so frustrated - so angry - about something someone has said to Clarke.

He tells himself it's because of his brotherly nature. He's protective. That's all.

And then Finn's question. "Can I see her?"

Bellamy's back bristles at his question. "No." Bellamy walks past Finn to the water. He swears under his breath, but doesn't say anything else. For some reason, he feels a strange obligation to hate Finn. Whether it's because the guy is annoying, or because of what he did to Clarke, he doesn't know. But something about Finn makes him angry.

So he chooses to ignore Finn. He ignores the eyes on him as he fills a cup with water.

"And why do you get to see her, huh?" Finn raises his voice at Bellamy.

Bellamy spins around, some of the water sloshing out of the cup. He clenches the muscles in his jaw, and stops himself from doing anything rash. "Because she wants to see me."

Finn glares at Bellamy, but Bellamy glares back. It's a small victory for Bellamy, and for that he can't stop the small smirk from appearing on his face. He just doesn't know what he's won. With a last glance at the crowd, he turns on his heel and marches back into the drop ship.

Clarke's leaning against the table, her hands behind her. She reaches up a hand to her head and her fingers come away bloody. She looks up then, and notices him.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she says when she sees his worried expression.

He walks closer and hands her the cup. "You sure? You hit your head pretty hard."

She sips the water and smiles reassuringly. "I'm fine."

Bellamy is unconvinced. "You have bags under your eyes, Clarke! You're not fine." He doesn't mean to sound so harsh.

She slams the cup down on the table behind her, the water spilling over slightly. She glares intensely at him. "I don't take orders from you, Bellamy."

Bellamy clenches his jaw and tries not to scream at her. This is the thanks he gets for helping her? "No, you don't." Just to spite her, he reaches behind her to the water. He takes a long drink from the cup, glaring at her all the while. To her credit, she glares back. "And I don't take orders from you," he says, putting the cup back.

She rolls her eyes. "Tell Anna I'll be a minute. I'm going to fix my head."

Bellamy bites his lip, and manages to calm down. Her tone was quiet, and it makes him feel a little guilty. He watches silently as she moves around the drop ship.

"Clarke," he starts, a little unsure, "I didn't mean to yell."

She stops her movements and freezes in place. Slowly, Clarke turns around. "It's okay, Bellamy. Don't worry about it. Hey, can you help me find a cloth?"

Bellamy is startled by her request, but quickly catches himself. "Yeah, sure."

"Damn it!" Clarke says a moment later. "I used them all."

Bellamy doesn't even think. He reaches down and tears his shirt.

"Bellamy, what are you doing?" She reaches out and tries to stop him, but he puts a hand on hers.

"Will this work?" He asks quietly, holding out the piece of his shirt.

Her eyes soften. "Yeah. But that was your only shirt."

Bellamy smirks. "I'll be fine. It's already torn off anyway, so you better make use of it."

She smiles and takes the cloth from him. "I will." She presses the cloth toward her head, soaking up the blood and staining the fabric red.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Bellamy asks.

She removes the cloth and presses a clean part of it to her head. "I'm fine, really. It looks worse than it is."

Bellamy nods slowly, and decides to trusts her. "Whatever you say, princess." He pats her shoulder and leaves her to it.

But Bellamy can't stop the small smile that spreads across his face as he steps out of the drop ship.

-

He finds her that night, lying awake on the drop ship floor. He couldn't sleep.

"What are you doing in here, princess?" Bellamy asks quietly.

Her eyes flicker around the room before landing on him. "What do you mean?"

He raises his eyebrows at her words and walks closer. "I mean, why aren't you in your tent?" He crouches down beside her.

She sits up and brushes hair away from her face. "Raven is taking my place in the tent. She and Finn got into an argument, and he kicked her out."

Bellamy rolls his eyes. Finn always seems to create problems for Clarke. "And why couldn't you have just let her find somewhere else to sleep?"

"There isn't any room, Bellamy," she says exasperatedly. "You know that."

"Yes there is. You could have just come and gotten me. I would have let you sleep there." The words tumble from his mouth before he dares to stop them. He clenches his jaw, and waits for her laughter. Clarke's mouth opens slightly at his words, and her gaze softens. But she doesn't laugh.

"I didn't want to wake you," she says quietly.

He smirks at her. "I'm already awake, princess, so it doesn't matter."

Clarke hums and looks down. "I guess not." She breathes in deeply and stretches her back. "I'm not getting any sleep tonight, though."

"Alright," he says, smiling gently at her. "Well, my offer still stands."

"I'll have to take you up on it sometime," Clarke says, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them.

They sent in silence for a while. It's a comfortable silence - one that lingers on them lightly. Bellamy feels at ease. He's not getting any sleep either. It would be better to be awake with Clarke than awake by himself, he thinks. So he stays with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he looks at her.

Her face is calm, and she looks at peace. Bellamy has the strange, sudden urge to wrap his arm around her, but he resists it. He feels protective of her - he can't help it. It must be his brotherly nature.

His voice breaks the silence after a while. "Why did you let someone like Finn bring you down?" Bellamy's worried that the question is too forward.

Clarke bites her lip and hugs her knees closer. "I don't know. I really don't know."

Bellamy understands this. Why does anyone do anything? "To be honest, Clarke, you deserve better."

She turns to face him. Suddenly, the distance between them seems a whole lot smaller. Were they that close a minute ago? She searches his face, his eyes lingering on hers.

"Clarke," she says quietly.

"What?" Bellamy looks at her questionably.

"You called me Clarke," she says softly, her voice gentle.

Bellamy's surprised by her statement. He smiles, though. "I've called you by your name before, princess."

Somehow, her voice seems to get softer. "No." Her voice is little more than a whisper. But to Bellamy, it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. "Not like that."

He hums softly, acutely aware that it's what Clarke tends to do. "No," he agrees.

His eyes search her face, trying to make a decision. And finally, he does. In one quick motion, he wraps his arm around Clarke and pulls her close to him. At first Bellamy wonders if he's been to forward. He feels Clarke shift against him, and he tenses.

But then she wraps her arms around him, and curls herself into his arms. He holds her tighter. They stay there - for how long, Bellamy doesn't know - without moving. He is almost afraid to. Still, he scoots backwards a few feet until his back hits the drop ship wall, and pulls Clarke with him.

Her hair tickles his arms slightly, but it is strangely comforting. It's a reminder that she's there. And he revels in the feeling - the surge of joy that rushes through him - and holds on to it tightly.

It's too precious to let go.

Bellamy runs his fingers through Clarke's hair, provoking a small sigh from her. Her hair isn't soft - it's knotty, and slightly greasy. But it's real, and it's human, and it's Clarke's. He carefully undoes the small knot at the back of her head, and continues to run his fingers through her hair.

He combs out the knots, and tames the frizz - gently. It takes a while, but he doesn't mind. Bellamy is content. He hugs her closer again, if that is even possible, and she quickly responds.

Clarke's hands fist in his shirt, the fabric folding beneath her fingers. One of her hands finds the tear in his shirt. She runs her fingers along it slowly, and Bellamy stops moving. He all but holds his breath as she traces the tear. Her hand follows the path of the tear, and slowly comes to the highest point. The fabric in his shirt has wrinkles in it from sitting down, and an inch of his stomach is exposed.

Clarke's fingers find this, too. She runs her fingers along the inch of skin. Her fingertips are cold, and leave trails of goosebumps on Bellamy's skin. He swallows and doesn't move. She traces small patterns on his skin, slowly getting more confident.

Suddenly, she stops, and her arms resume their position around his waist. Bellamy is confused at first. Why did she stop? She tilts her head up to meet his eyes. They hold each other's gazes - both to stubborn to move, Bellamy thinks. He swallows. But then she speaks, the first of either of them to break the silence in a long time.

"I owe you a shirt, don't I."

Bellamy chuckles and pulls her back into his arms. She fits perfectly into his side. They're both more assured about themselves this time. Clarke's arms find the spot right above his hips quickly, pulling herself closer to him. Not like he's complaining. "You don't owe me anything, princess," he says softly, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

His lips linger there for longer than need be, but Clarke doesn't complain. They both have already lingered, anyway. What's a little more?

She doesn't owe him anything, Bellamy realizes. She's already given him enough.

AN: Hello everyone! That was the longest one shot I have ever written! It has 2871 words! Anyway, I'm sorry for uploading this later than expected. I just wasn't feeling inspired for a while. But then I randomly got this idea, so I just sat down and wrote. Feedback would be great!